this isn't Paris, baby
by youknowyouwantit
Summary: Tony/Ziva: She's still wearing the green dress she was wearing when she shot the NCIS Agent and her hair has fallen out of her topknot; it's in reckless curls around her neck. Her nails are chipped and there's an extraordinary amount of blood. On her, on the dress, on the floor. Tony isn't sure if its hers or not, and thats why he quickly drops down beside her on the hotel floor.


_This was inspired by a story about the 100 by the author, sarsaparilla._

 _Tony and Ziva after a mission in Israel with the NCIS team. Ziva shoots an NCIS agent that Tony is close friends with. The shot is justified, but NCIS is investigating her as if she was a murderer. Takes place sometime season 4/5ish. I'm don't play by the rules, which means this timeline is probably wrong. If you love me, review._

 _Pardon my French._

She's still wearing the green dress she was wearing when she shot Agent Anya Cassidy. Her hair has fallen out of her topknot; it's in reckless curls around her neck. Her nails are chipped and there's an extraordinary amount of blood. On her, on the dress, on the floor.

Tony isn't sure if its hers or not, and that's why he quickly drops down beside her on the hotel floor.

Her message to him had been brief: _The Efendi Hotel_. He hadn't texted her back, didn't question a room number or a place to look. She would find him when he got there, she always did. As soon as he had walked in the door, a busboy had given him a curt nod and handed him a room key with the numbers, 413 on it.

He isn't surprised by the busboy, Ziva tends to inspire loyalty in everyone she meets, regardless of the weapons she was surely holding or the blood she was covered in.

Tony immediately begins to cover her with his hands, checking for wounds, searching for hurts—he finds a gunshot wound in her shoulder, and some kind of slice in her thigh. She doesn't protest to his wandering hands; she watches him, eyes wide and pupils blown.

He grips her elbows hard, angry. She's been missing for two and half days and Tony isn't sure if his heart can take anymore agony from her. His nails leave red half-moon marks on her skin, but she doesn't protest. Ziva has always used pain as punishment, and she knows she's earned this.

"Why did you come back here?" Tony asks, although he doesn't expect an answer. _Never return to the scene of your crime_. It's one of Gibbs' rules, although he can't remember which one right now. There was a crime scene down the hall three days ago and Ziva knows this because Ziva created this mess. She's still bleeding from her shoulder and she still hasn't said anything and he's worried because _Ziva_ but he's seen worse because he's lived through worse.

"I did not have a choice." She spits. He rips off the edge of her dress so he can see the wound in her shoulder. The edge of her bra is showing, it's black and lacy, although he knew it would be. She hisses in pain as he presses his thumb to the edges of the wound.

Tony can't sew to save his life, but surely she knew this when she called him.

" _Mon Dieu_." She swears.

There are doctors and nurses and even veterinarians who could stitch up a gunshot wound better than he could, but Ziva called him. Perhaps there is more trust here than he knew. He remembers the last time she was in trouble: a call to Mexico to fetch Gibbs; ignoring his phone calls and worry for days; her car left by the crime scene. This time there was no car at the crime scene to suspect her; this time, it was Ziva herself.

There are others who could stitch up a gunshot wound better than he could, but he is the only one who will touch her murderous skin.

Or maybe it's the other way, because he's the only one who she allows to touch her.

But he's mad, so there's no mercy tonight. "I don't have any anesthetic. Even if I did, I wouldn't use it. I hope this hurts."

"Tony. _Tony_."

Tony ignores her, and starts stitching. The needle cuts through her skin. The line of thread is crooked and tighter than it should be and Ziva is swearing in a language that he doesn't understand. He can't tell if it's Greek or Arabic.

"Speak English." He mutters. He pauses to look at her. Ziva's head is thrown back, hair brushing the carpet, neck corded out.

As always, he's fascinated by her, so he doesn't stop himself from reaching out and placing a thumb against her pulse. It's thundering under her skin. She closes her eyes at his touch.

All of a sudden, he feels compassion towards this assassin beneath his fingertips, so he begins his uneven stitches again. The thing about Ziva is that she is all long hard muscle beneath his fingertips, he already knows this, has memorized her skin before, but there's a lot on display at the moment, shiny with sweat and agony.

Tony bites through the thread with his teeth. Ziva's eyes go dark watching him and Tony smirks. He reaches into the fridge by the bed and pulls out a shooter of whiskey. He takes a swig before pouring the rest on her skin.

Ziva snarls through the pain. " _Je te hais_." It's still not English, but it's French, so it's close enough.

Tony laughs for a while and rounds it off with his signature play boy smile. " _Vous souhaitez vous l'avez fait_."

"Who taught you?" She pants. She doesn't protest when he rips up her dress to examine the wound on her thigh. He has seen all of this before.

"My mother." Tony answers although that could be considered a lie. He likes languages and he picks them up easily. Gibbs doesn't know this, because as much as he believes in Tony, none of them ever expect him to be the smart one. He knows French and Italian, and Portuguese is similar to French and Spanish is similar to English and somehow he nearly knows enough to be as competent as Ziva, but he always forgets to shed the jokester persona. He flashes another grin to signify the end of the conversation.

"Why did you call me? Forget Gibbs' number?" He ends his sentence with a splash of whiskey. It drips off her leg and onto the carpet and the scent of it stinks like college frat parties. She doesn't immediately answer so he starts talking again. He doesn't need a second person for a conversation. "You know, this just like that TV show after the apocalypse—"

"You are my partner. I do not call Gibbs if I can call you. Last time, I could not call you." Of course Ziva knows that that bothered him. Ziva knows everything about him.

Tony looks back towards her thigh to avoid her gaze. This cut is shallow and doesn't need stitches. He places gauze on it and tapes some spare bandage over it, so it doesn't bleed on her white hotel sheets. There are other scars and scrapes on her legs but Tony tries not to focus on those old wounds—torture does that to a person. Those are not his concern. Those will never be his concern, not if Ziva is convicted for the murder of one of his best friends.

Ziva is still staring at him steadily and something inside of Tony goes tight. He feels hot all over, and tired, oh-so-tired. Pretending he isn't in love with her is always exhausting, but not, caught between hating her for her crime and loving her like usual, he is weary of pretending that he isn't invested. Being so close to her in a small space, with her half naked and sweaty isn't helping his cause.

His blood is singing beneath his skin. To avoid her gaze, he reaches behind him again to grab more shooters from the mini fridge, this time, ending up with cherry vodka and tequila. Tony knows how much Ziva hates vodka, so that's what he gives her.

Tony takes a long swig, and finishes the shot in one swig. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Ziva opens her mouth to say something. Probably something about the vodka or Gibbs or the girl she murdered or how she's actually innocent but Tony doesn't let her say a thing.

It's not really a kiss. It's a clash of teeth. But she closes her eyes and so does he and he can taste blood and tequila and the vodka she hates and maybe a little of Ziva, if he concentrates. But he breaks it off before she can and moves far away from her, leans back against the wall a few feet away.

"Are you okay?" She asks him. She looks at him like he's a wounded animal, as if he was the one covered in blood.

Tony's breathing hard and he's not fine, but that's what he tells her. And she knows he's not but she lets him say it anyway. Tony looks her up and down. "Are you going to take that dress off or do I have to?" He asks her and she grins wide. She has blood on her face and in her teeth and she looks like a savage with her hair like that.

"Kiss me Tony." She says and then she pulls him to the ground.

 _Translations:_

 _My god._

 _I hate you._

 _You wish you did._

 _PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU LOVE ME. AND PLEASE REVIEW EVEN IF YOU DON'T._


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